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in the house, it was a sacrosanct time of day. The supper dishes were done. Ida Mae always went to bed in her downstairs suite immediately afterward. The sheep had been rounded up for the night by the ever vigilant sheepdog, who had been fed and was snoozing on a pile of hay in the barn. Bambi the deer was in his pen, safe from predators and hunters. Noah was in his room, working on his report. Lori was, presumably, watching DVDs or listening to her iPod—with headphones either way, which was the rule at Ladybug Farm. Lindsay, Cici, and Bridget gathered on the front porch to watch the sunset for the first time in four long, cold months. The expression on their faces as the setting sun cast hues of gold and pink across their skin was reminiscent of those of prisoners who had just walked outside the big gate and who stood dumbstruck, barely able to comprehend the glory of the freedom that was offered them.
    “Six o’clock,” murmured Lindsay contentedly, “and it’s sixty-two degrees. I love this place.”
    “Days like this make you believe Nature has a master plan,” agreed Bridget.
    “Speaking of plans . . .” Cici slanted her a sly look. “Good job assigning Miss Lower-Your-Carbon-Footprint to garden duty. I suspect we’ll hear a lot less out of her now that she’s got a chance to practice what she preaches.”
    “And how about my contribution to the work schedule?” Lindsay demanded archly. “Was that a stroke of genius or what?”
    Cici almost choked on her wine. “I didn’t think I could keep a straight face! Good heavens, Lindsay, you couldn’t pay me to clean out those pools!”
    “My solution was to fill them in and make a patio,” admitted Bridget.
    “Well, there you go,” said Lindsay smugly. “You want something done, you ask someone with a little ambition.” She sipped her wine. “I have a feeling fixing up an old house and living close to nature are going to seem a lot less romantic to Lori—and college dorm life a lot more appealing—before this summer is over.”
    There was a moment of silence in which they knew Cici was trying to convince herself Lindsay was right.
    Then Cici said, “Should we be worried about the social worker’s visit?”
    Lindsay gave a half chuckle. “It’s just Carrie from town. She’s the one who came up with the idea for us to share guardianship with Reverend Holland in the first place, and she’s already approved the living situation once. It’s just a formality. But I wanted Noah to think we should be worried.”
    “I think Lori is right,” Bridget said. “We are a little manipulative.”
    “It’s one of those self-defense skills they teach you in Mother School,” Cici said.
    “What is this about wanting to move back out to the woods?” Bridget wanted to know. “He’s not serious, is he? After we practically broke our necks last fall sneaking things down there to him to keep him from freezing—and starving—to death!”
    Lindsay rocked thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure. Part of it is just his Davy Crockett fantasy, I guess. But I think it might have more to do with the fact that he doesn’t know how to be part of a family. It can’t have been easy, all the adjustments he’s had to make this year.”
    “Well, he’s not moving back to the folly,” Bridget declared.
    “I think we can all agree on that,” said Cici.
    “I don’t think we’ll hear much more about those plans for a while,” Lindsay said with a wry tilt of her head, “since it’s going to take him most of the summer to pay off that traffic fine.”
    They were silent for a while, listening to birdsong, watching the colors deepen over the mountains and the shadows swallow up the lawn. Then a sudden stream of lamplight poured into the dusky shadows of the porch as the front door opened, the screen door squeaked, and Lori burst out. “I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got the plan.”
    She bounced to a stop in front of them, a yellow legal pad in her